


Broken Trigger

by Plutonic_5



Series: Let Me Take You On A Ride [6]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Assault, Attempted Sexual Assault, Blood and Violence, Concussions, Fear, Fluff and Angst, Injury Recovery, M/M, Panic, Panic Attacks, Paranoia, References to Depression, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Harm, Sickness, Triggers, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 14:24:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16620716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plutonic_5/pseuds/Plutonic_5
Summary: "Anti blinked slowly, staring at Jack’s bedside drawer in the dark. He was laid in bed on his side, back facing the sleeping brown-haired man. He had been awake for hours by now."





	Broken Trigger

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct sequel of [Don't Talk About It.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15820047)
> 
> This work heavily references [Metamorphosis.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15853617/chapters/36926850) I'd advise reading at least the last chapter of said work, if the subject is too heavy for you.
> 
> Life has kicked me in the face, but I'm back!

Anti blinked slowly, staring at Jack’s bedside drawer in the dark. He was laid in bed on his side, back facing the sleeping brown-haired man. He had been awake for hours by now. 

Jack had fallen asleep quickly due to the pain meds for the stab wound.  _ Of which I was responsible for, _ he thought bitterly, and sighed. It had been a few weeks since Jack’s attack, and he hadn’t seen the Pack since. He didn’t want to go back. Why couldn’t they just forget him? He was so  _ forgettable _ , a nobody. 

He hugged himself, and silent tears fell down his cheeks, onto the soft pillow. It smelled of Jack’s shampoo, and a bit of gillyflower. His eyes traveled around the room, the faint sunrise light coming through the white curtains. He could see the shape of several picture frames on the dresser, some Polaroids stuck to the wall. 

He had paid attention to every single picture by now, trying to piece Jack’s past together. There were pictures of him and a dark-skinned man wearing a man-bun with dark chocolate eyes— _ Rafael _ , Jack had told him— Their faces splattered with bright yellow paint. There were pictures of Jack with Robin, and the Patrol guys. 

Some photos were of Jack when he was younger, a small, almost chubby frame, hugging a few of his college friends, and others were of the boy hugging two women that seemed to be very important. One had a very punk, gang style, with short hair, pierced face, and black leather clothes. The second one looked to be his teacher, with an angry face and grey hair tied in a bun with chopsticks.

Anti had asked about them all, wanting to know more. It was fascinating, how much of a past Jack had. How many parties did he go to, how many friends did he made, how much sex he had, how much he cried, and laughed, and  _ lived _ . Anti hadn’t had that. Why couldn’t he had had that?

He brushed his fingers on his bare neck. He got used to wearing his choker less inside Jack’s house. It felt… wrong, unnecessary. Like he didn’t need to hide who he was. 

They— Robin and Jack— didn’t ask much about his scar, or his weird mannerisms. They just respected him, let him be. How weird was that, to actually have a choice to share anything? He yawned. He was tired, but still couldn’t sleep. Jack’s little alarm clock ticked quietly in the room, and he wasn’t exactly bothered by it. He could hear Jack’s breathing, and birds starting to wake up outside. 

He heard the body next to him shift, and he held his breath, not wanting to wake the man up. A cold nose touched the back of his neck.

“Why aren'tcha asleep?” Jack’s deep voice mumbled against his skin. Anti exhaled a sigh.

“I just woke up,” he muttered.

“Liar,” Jack said, nuzzling Anti’s shoulder softly.

The green-haired man turned to face him slowly, and their noses touched, both heads laid in the same pillow now. They looked at each other’s eyes, breathing in the silence of the morning. Jack blinked sleepily at him, a hand coming up to cup Anti’s cheek, and caress it with his thumb. Anti leaned to the touch, eyes fluttering, suddenly  _ so _ sleepy.

Jack huffed a smile, glancing at the alarm clock. “I have a few hours before the shop opens, nap with me.”

“I’m not tired,” Anti mumbled, and Jack tucked the green-haired man under his chin. He breathed in his scent, relished in the touch.

Anti was asleep in less than 5 minutes.

Jack went to work, as he had said, a few hours later, much to Robin's displeasure. His wound had been healing quickly, thanks to Anti’s stitching, but he was stubborn.

_ “My plants need me,” _ he had argued, not a force in the world that could change his mind.

The man had been taking it easy though, and would be back home earlier. Anti would stay inside all day waiting for him, as he didn’t want to leave the house.

In fact, he hadn’t wanted to do much of anything, these days— he was lost. The Pack didn’t come looking for him, and the green-haired man wasn’t sure if that was good or not yet. On one side, he was relieved, because he wanted to be left alone, but on the other, that could only mean they were up to no good.

And he was right. At the end of the evening, Anti was laying on the sofa, staring at nothing in particular when the silence was broken by a loud  _ crash _ .

He jumped up, eyes wide, and looked behind him. The living room window was shattered. Shards of glass everywhere, around a big rock. He swallowed, crouching down shakily, and took the rock in his hands. On the stone, there was a wolf painted in red. The Pack symbol.

His heart jumped to his throat, and he hyperventilated.  _ Fuck. Fuck! They found me. They’ll try to hurt Jack. They’ll destroy everything! _ He sat on the floor and tried to breathe, hand over his chest. His eyes darted around dreadfully, but he couldn’t see, vision blurry with panic.

His hand slipped on the floor, a sharp piece of glass cutting his skin. He winced, drawing his hand back and hugging it against his chest, a thin trail of blood running down his pastel green jumper sleeve.

_ No, no, no, no. Not now, keep your shit together!  _

It was no use— He was stuck in a panic attack, and he was alone. 

 

Jack was walking back home, his stomach wound a bit sore. His friends had told him not to go to work until it was healed, but he didn’t want to waste any time. He needed to be productive, after all.

He was forbidden to patrol at night, though. Robin would literally carry him forcefully back home if he tried to strain himself in a fight. He huffed. Robin acted like a big brother to him a lot of times.

He fiddled with his keys, glancing at the horizon. The sun was about to set, the sky a pretty shade of orange-pink. The street was calm, sounds of plants being watered, birds tweeting in the trees, his feet scraping the ground.

He turned the street corner, and looked up. His eyes widened, and he froze. 

_ What the fuck?!  _

His living room window was shattered, and the lights were turned off. His breath got caught in his throat.  _ Anti _ . He got his phone quickly, dialing Robin’s number. He picked up on the first ring, as always.

“Hey Jack, you out of the shop already?” His voice sais through the device.

“Robin,” Jack muttered, walking closer to his house. “My window is shattered, I think someone got in my place. I don’t know if I can fight with this wound and-”

“Fuck. Okay, I’m on my way, don’t get inside, Jack. I’m serious.”

Jack swallowed, nodding, “Please hurry, I don’t know where Anti is.”

Robin arrived quickly, jumping off his bike with a bat in his hands. He rushed to Jack’s side, and took the keys for himself.

“I’ll go in first, stay behind me.” Jack nodded.

The keys clinked on the lock, and Robin opened the door slowly, eyes alert. He stepped inside carefully, resting the bat on his shoulders, ready to attack. Both men stopped abruptly when they heard a noise coming from behind the sofa.

“Anti?” Jack tried in a whisper, and the noise only got louder. It sounded like wheezing.

Robin gestured forward with his chin, and they got closer to the sound. The light-haired man stilled, and with a gasp, dropped his attack stance, putting the bat under his arm, and kneeling down. Behind the sofa, there was a dark figure curled up in a tight ball. 

“Anti?” Robin called gently, and the figure only shook more violently. He seemed not being able to breathe.

Jack quickly kneeled down to their level, and worriedly looked around. “Anti, love,” he tried, “is there anyone here? Did anyone break in?”

The curled up man didn’t answer.

“Anti, you need to breathe, okay? I need you to take a deep breath,” Robin coached. 

Anti looked up with wide, teary green eyes, and tried to scramble back, wincing and letting out a pained grunt, clutching his right hand on his chest.

Robin gently pushed the bat away from himself, and pulled his palms up facing the man.

“Anti, I won’t hurt you, see? I need you to take a deep breath, please,” he tried again, speaking calmly and quietly.

The green-haired man searched both of their faces, and shakily sulked in a big gulp of air. He coughed a few times, and more tears fell down his flushed face. He wheezed, and drew in quick breaths.

“There you go,” Robin praised, sighing in relief.

Jack inched closer. “ _ Cholla _ ,” he whispered, “are you hurt?”

Anti swallowed, lips dry, and opened his trembling hand, his sleeve stained red. Jack scrunched up his eyebrows in concern. 

The brown-haired man sat down beside him, leaning against the back of the sofa. He hesitantly touched Anti’s arm, and the green-haired man dropped on his chest with a sob. He hugged Anti’s frame, leaving light kisses on the top of the man’s hair, and shushing him softly.

Robin nodded at them, and picked up the bat. He stood up and went to search around the house for anything remotely threatening. He glanced to the broken window, and his gaze moved down to the floor, covered in glass shards. In the middle of the mess, there was a big rock— those you’d find in someone’s garden— with a red wolf painted on it. His eyes darkened, and he ran his hands through his short hair.

“It was them,” Robin announced.

Jack looked down at Anti. “Did they hurt you?” He whispered close to the man’s ear. He felt the green-haired man shake his head  _ no _ . 

“They didn’t come in, it was just a rock,” Robin said, taking the stone in hands with a sigh.

Jack closed his eyes, and swallowed the anger boiling down his gut. His wound hurt in this position, but he didn’t care. He kept caressing Anti’s hair and talking to him softly, as Robin started to broom the glass pieces in a neat pile.

Slowly but surely, Anti started to calm down. His trembling frame relaxing on his arms. Jack sighed in relief.

“Let me take a look on that hand,” he muttered, and the man shifted to show him a cut across his palm. Jack winced. “Let’s get this cleaned up.”

Anti nodded, looking exhausted.

Robin threw the glass away, and covered the window with a blanket, as a makeshift protection. Jack thanked him, and the man left them to their own devices.

He wrapped Anti’s hand with gauze, both men silent in the kitchen. The clock on the wall ticked, and he was tired, adrenaline finally wearing down. He looked up at Anti.

“Give me your phone,” he said. The green-haired man frowned.

“Why?” He asked, but handed it over regardless.

Jack took it in hands and, with a few clicks here and there, set his own number as an emergency contact. He gave the phone back to Anti.

“Now, if you need me and I’m not there, you can call me way easier.”

Anti smiled a small smile. “That’s smart.”

Jack huffed. “I do that, sometimes.”

 

The next few days were… quiet. Very quiet. 

Anti refused to leave the house, or even open the window curtains at all. He couldn’t sleep, and he couldn’t bother to eat, either. He avoided looking himself in the mirror.  _ I’m a mess. _

Jack and Robin shared worried glances around him, and he hated it. He hated that they cared. They should just let him rot in bed, like he had done so many times in his life. 

He wished he didn’t have to think, or deal with anything. He missed being more a  _ thing _ than a person— how fucked up was that? He shook his head. The cold weather had arrived, and with it came the flu. He always got sick this time of the year.

He sniffled, nose blocked almost completely and body heavy. He wasn’t eating, moving, and much less taking the medicine Jack gave to him. He felt like an ungrateful prick. 

The Pack knew where Jack lived, and that terrified him. What if they came inside? What if they tried to take Jack? What if they tried to  _ kill _ Jack? He pressed his eyes closed until colourful spots flashed on his vision.  _ Come on, Anti. Don’t lose it. _

He was getting paranoid. Every time Jack opened the door of his own house, Anti jumped. What if they break in? What if he had a stupid panic attack again? What if-

“ _ Cholla, _ ” Jack’s voice dragged him out of his spiral of bad thoughts. He blinked at him. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

He looked down at the plate in front of him. He hadn’t even touched the food. “I’m not hungry.”

Jack pursed his lips. “You’re sick, you need to eat something.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Jack leaned back on his chair, and crossed his arms over his chest. Blue eyes staring at him. Anti rolled his eyes. “Fine. Just a little bit.” Jack smirked. 

It only got worse. It wasn’t like he had never had a cold before, or that this one was particularly serious. But his psychological state was deteriorating, and he just felt sicker and sicker. 

He had a fever. Of course, he woke up sweating like it was the hottest day of summer, and his cheeks were a deep shade of pink. His skin was pickling, and his mind felt hazy.

The body next to him stirred, and Jack sat up. His brown hair sticking up at all places, his bare chest moving slowly with his slow breaths. The man frowned, and looked down at Anti.

“ _ Cholla _ , are you alright?” His sleepy, deep voice asked. 

“Yeah,” Anti croaked, blinking up blearily at him. “Why?”

Jack’s cold hands touched the green-haired man’s sweaty forehead, and Anti winced at the difference of temperature. 

“Fuck, you’re burning up,” Jack mumbled, grabbing the hem of Anti’s jumper and pulling it over his head. The green-haired man sighed in relief as the chilly air hit his chest. 

“I think I got a fever,” Anti muttered.

Jack huffed, getting out of bed. “You  _ think?”  _

He heard some shuffling, and he had a headache. Strands of wet green hair sticking on his forehead with sweat. Jack came back with a couple of tablets and a cup of water. He grimaced. He didn’t want to take medicine. He was used to just wait it out, and it’d pass. 

“Yes, you  _ have _ to take them,” Jack said as Anti opened his mouth to argue. He scowled.

“Whatever,” he grumbled, swallowing up the medicine with a big gulp of water. The cold liquid chilling down his dry throat.

He laid back down over the soft pillows, and sighed. He jumped when there was a knock at the door.

“You two, can I come in?” Robin’s voice called from behind it, then, as an afterthought, he added, “Are you guys fucking?”

Jack snorted. “Come in, check for yourself.”

Robin opened up the door slowly, peeking through the gap warily. Anti giggled weakly. “We’re not fucking, Robin.”

Jack chuckled, pushing Anti’s sweaty hair out of his forehead. “ _ Cholla _ is busy.”

“Doing what?” Robin asked, stepping inside.

“Dying,” Anti said, deadpan. 

Jack rolled his eyes. “He’s got a cold.”

“Jack poisoned me with his plants,” he whined dramatically, placing a hand over his forehead like a damsel in distress.

Robin smirked. “Typical Jack.”

“He’s being stubborn,” Jack said with a smile.

“You guys are truly alike, then.” The light-haired man joked, and got a sock thrown at him by Jack. Anti snorted, then started coughing.

He wheezed, sitting up to breathe, and his chest hurt. Jack hit him in the back to help, and when he was done with his fit, he flopped back down.

Robin whistled. “I’ll make some chicken soup for you.”

“He doesn’t eat meat,” Jack reminded him, and Anti smiled at the consideration.

“Chicken is fine, I just don’t fancy red meat,” he croaked. Robin nodded, and left the room.

“Have you ever eaten red meat?” Jack asked.

Anti grimaced.  _ Yes _ , he wanted to say.  _ I have ripped the meat of screaming men, and chewed them as they cried for mercy. _

“Yeah,” he said instead. “Not a fan.”

The soup was delicious, though he wouldn’t have expected any less of Robin— he was the kind of guy that seemed to know how to do anything. 

He finished eating in bed, and got some stuff sprayed on his nostrils so he could breathe properly. He wasn’t wearing his choker, even though Robin was in the house. He felt too hot and uncomfortable to bare leather on his skin.

His green hair was… everywhere. Jack said he looked like a fucking pineapple. He shrugged.  _ Better a bitter pineapple than a rotten apple. _

Days passed, and under Jack and Robin's care, he was getting better quickly. He still didn’t leave the house, but he was technically physically able to again. 

He heard noises at night, and jumped with any sudden movement in the house. Anti was going insane, and he hated how familiar that felt. The Pack was toying with him, haunting him like filthy rats in a haunted house.

 

Jack wrapped his hands in his dirty white bands, and sighed. He wasn’t supposed to strain himself.  _ Robin is gonna be so pissed. _

He stood up, and ran his palms over his punching bag, hanging from the ceiling. He was stressed, and he was hurt. He was tired of having to deal with the Pack's bullshit, and tired of seeing Anti so afraid. 

He punched it once, a pang of pain shot across his body. Then he punched again, and he kept going until the pain flashed blind spots across his vision. His knuckles were sore, his wound throbbed. The pain felt grounding.

He wanted  _ more _ , and he wanted to  _ hurt _ . The pain being the only thing that felt real, worthy, but manageable. He could control pain, he could make it stop.

_ “Pain can make you stronger,” _ a familiar woman’s voice said in his head. “ _ But can also make you bleed bitter.” _

Bridget, and her leather clothes and black lipstick. He missed her. His old coach, the one who taught him almost everything he knew. Every time he looked at her photograph on his room, he wanted to make her proud.

He could just call her, ask for advice. It had been a while since they had talked. She’d answer the phone with a laugh, and shout at her spouse that  _ Jackieboy-man _ finally remembered them. He huffed. It was still weird that his coach’s spouse was his old botanical teacher. Mrs. Juniper still gave him chills to this day— she was a fierce woman for sure. Her gray hairs tied in a bun and her small glasses didn’t fool anyone.

He punched the bag again, grunting under his breath. Bridget would say he’s being stupid, hurting himself like this. Juniper would hit him in the head with her god damn wooden ruler.

His mother would cry, saying  _ “oh my, what has my son done to himself this time?” _ . Superhero Jack— a joke. Can’t even save himself, much less the people that he loved the most.

He hadn’t realized how long he kept punching that god damn bag, until the pain on his muscles tingled in a way he knew too well, when drops of blood fell from his knuckles and angry tears fell on his face.

Except the blood wasn’t only coming from his knuckles this time. His entire abdomen pulsed in agony from his strain, and his wound hiccupped on his skin, hanging on the stitches for dear life. He felt nauseous, he felt dizzy, he… was  _ throwing up _ , and his knees buckling down from exhaustion.

His face didn’t meet the ground though, because big, warm arms caught him just in time. It was Robin. He could hear him, distantly— something about Jack being “stupid and inconsequential”—, and his ears rang. Then Jack was on Robin's lap, as he tried to make any kind of sense.

He realized that he was crying at some point, but it didn’t really matter.

_ “’M gonna find ‘em, Robin…” _ he mumbled on the man’s neck,  _ “I won’t let ‘em take him.” _

 

No one could’ve guessed what would happen a week later, however.

Anti had left Jack’s place in the afternoon for the first time in a while, trying to clear his head up. He walked through the friendly neighbourhood, receiving polite smiles and tired salutes from the people who had worked all day.

Lost in his own thoughts though, he had been careless. 

He hadn’t heard the extra steps behind him, or the shadows that followed his. He hadn’t noticed how long he had been walking in a straight line, and how the flowery path of the town became dirty, cold concrete. 

He hadn’t noticed the smell of cigarettes, nor of alcohol. 

Hard glass collided against his temple, shards cutting his skin, the impact strong enough to blur his entire vision. He stumbled to the side, and arms caught him before he fell.

Rope was wrapped around his neck, right over his choker, and he was roughly pulled upright by it, his throat convulsing in a startled cough. His arms were held behind him, and his face tilted up by the cold tip of a knife.

“What the f-!” He tried, wincing at the blade pressing under his chin.

“I didn’t think you’d mind to show up,” a familiar voice drawled, responsive low chuckles breathed near his ears.

“Lucky?” Anti squinted up at the man, “what is this?”

“ _ This _ ,” he said, pulling the rope maliciously, “is what I should’ve done the day you set that body on fire.”

The green-haired man's eyes widened, and he tried to swallow. Every time the rope was pulled, his breathing hiccupped on its pace. The pressure felt too familiar— it was as if he was leashed again. Controlled-

“ _ Tamed _ ,” Lucky finished his thought process for him. “I’ll put you in a nice little cage, so you can learn to not betray your own men.”

“I didn’t betray anyone,” Anti  whispered in a panicked voice, immediately being punched in the face by a cold fist.

His head jerked to the side due to the man's strength, and he tasted blood on his tongue. Anti was then kicked in the stomach, his arms twisted painfully behind his back. His shoulder was bitten, and the collar of his shirt ripped. 

_ This can’t be happening. _

He was shoved forward, the Pack men taking him away. 

_ This can’t be happening.  _

There was a car, probably stolen from someone, and the door was open. 

_ No, no, no, no.  _

His hair was yanked back, then promptly used to clash his head on the top od the vehicle.

He probably had a concussion, and the back of his eye sockets hurt. One more hit, he’d lose consciousness and, consequently, his right of free will for who knew how long. Maybe forever.

He couldn’t fight them, this time. He was too weak. Too broken. 

He didn’t  _ want _ to fight.

Anti's cheek met with the cold metal of the car, and he struggled against the men holding him in place. Something pressed on his bottom.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” a voice breathed on his ear. Digger. “Since you walked around with your ass out  at the warehouse.”

His breath caught on his throat, and he went on full blown panic. 

“D-Don’t touch me!” He hissed— The men around him just laughed, cold noses brushing on his neck.

He tried to scream, but a dirty cloth was stuffed on his mouth, and the rope around his neck was pulled until he choked on his words.

Suddenly, he heard a shout from the man behind him, and he fell on the ground.

 

Robin had been keeping an eye on Anti since the Pack became too quiet. The afternoon the green-haired man had decided to leave the house, Robin was worried.

Logically, Robin then followed him.

It all happened too fast. In one moment, there was a clash of a glass bottle, and in the other Anti was being pressed face first on a car by a bunch of men.

Robin was filled with pure rage. 

With his own hands, he knocked the men from behind his friend, Anti limply falling to the ground.

Before he could’ve checked on him, the man with the red bandana around his neck charged on his back, trying to ruin his balance. 

Robin, however, was evidently more skilled in a fight than any of them. With his senses poisoned by adrenaline, he punched the red-bandana man, and twisted his shoulder back until he heard a sickening crack. The man  _ howled _ , then was promptly knocked unconscious.

Robin did the same with the rest. He kicked a leg until it bended in an unnatural way, he broke a nose, he choked someone until they passed out. It was a bloodbath.

He stood in the silence, panting and knuckles stained red. His head snapped up upon hearing the quietest, muffled sob _. _

_ Anti! _

He stumbled over to his friend, fallen on the ground, and crouched down his level. The sight twisting his gut in an odd angle. 

Anti’s nose was bleeding, and his lip busted, stretched around an old rag that stuffed his mouth. His green eyes were vacant and dull, and he barely moved. Robin hesitantly took the wet cloth out of his friend's tongue, a string of bloody drool dripping on the floor. A rope was tied around his neck. 

“Anti,” he called softly, and the green-haired man’s hands twitched. He carefully untied the offending rope out of his pale neck, and shifted to pick the man up.

As soon as he touched him though, Anti started screaming.

_ “Don't touch!” _ he yelled, over and over again,  _ “Leave me alone!” _

Robin pursed his lips worriedly, and against his delusional friend's wishes, picked him up against his chest. Anti thrashed against his hold, kicking his legs and shoving him away. It became apparent to Robin that Anti wasn’t able to see what was in front of him, or at least to understand what was going on— he was in some kind of panicked haze, and his green eyes showed no recollection of who Robin was.

“I’ll take you to Jack,” he talked over Anti's shouts, and the man protested loudly.

“D-Don’t!” The man cried, face smeared with the blood that wouldn’t stop seeping out of his pierced nose.

“Okay, okay,” Robin hushed, pressing his distressed friend against his chest, holding him still as he walked away from the unconscious bodies. “We’ll go to your place.”

Robin had, of course, watched where Anti went every time he was away from Jack in the past. He needed to know how to trust him, and he found out about Anti's abandoned apartment out of town, far from the Pack's place.

He strode quickly with his friend on his arms, Anti thrashing against his hold the entire time. He arrived at the abandoned place, kicking the old door open and looking around before placing Anti carefully on a dusty mattress on the floor, near a broken window.

The place was… well, abandoned. No electricity, everything dirty and smelling of mold. Sound of rats on the ceiling, a dead plant at the windowsill that had turned brown and crumbled to rot.

Anti had gone deadly still, staring off the distance with wide, green eyes. His hands twitched, and he took shallow breaths like a gaping fish thrown at the sand. Robin kneeled down his level and, without touching him, tried to get him back to reality.

“Anti,” he tried— no response. “The bad guys are gone now. You’re free, buddy.”

The green-haired man was shaking, eyes darting from one side to another as if watching flashing images right in front of him.

“I can’t be free,” Anti muttered, at no one in particular. “He’s here. He’s always here.”

Robin frowned. “Who?”

“ _ Dark _ ,” he said, voice cracking at the vowel. Robin winced at the name. “He’s here, I’m  _ his _ , I’m-”

“Anti,” he interrupted. “Dark is dead. He’s not here anymore, I promise.”

Anti nodded.  _ “I killed him,” _ he whispered, a giggle escaping his trembling lips. 

“How?” Robin swallowed. 

Anti beckoned him over, and Robin leaned down. The green-haired man’s lips close to his ear, and he wheezed a lunatic laugh. “I hugged him,” he said in between snickers, hitting Robin’s heart with the tip of his finger.

Robin shook his head at his delusional friend. The man was losing it. He got his phone on his back pocket, and dialed Jack’s number.

“Robin?” Jack’s voice called through the device. 

“Jack,” he answered. “I need you to come here.”

“What? Where are you?” 

“I’ll send you my location. Anti was… jumped-”

“Is he okay?!”

“Yeah, yeah, uh,” he looked at the man on the floor, who had gone back to blankly staring at nowhere. “No, not really. He’s having some sort of episode.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Be careful.”

 

Jack ran so fast his vision went blurry, his stomach wound twisting painfully at each step he took. He could’ve gotten his motorbike. He could’ve done a lot of things. But as soon as Robin's location appeared on his screen, he jumped out of his seat faster than it’d be advised and bolted out of the door.

He got to an empty corner out of town, where an abandoned building had the door knocked down to the ground. He stepped inside the place, coughing up due all the dust in the air, and he saw two figures near the shattered window in the room.

“Robin?” He called cautiously. 

Robin raised his head at him, the light painting a concerned frown on his face. “Come in slowly.”

He walked with gentle steps closer to them, and crouched down. Anti didn’t even blink at his presence. He carefully held out his hand, as if approaching a distressed animal, and brushed the man’s green hair out of his eyes. 

“Did you call the police?” Jack murmured at Robin. 

The light-haired man nodded. “While you didn’t arrive,” he said, “the freaks should be in jail now.”

Jack sighed. “What about Anti?”

“Even if they call him out to the cops, Anti was a victim of human trafficking, slavery, forced labor, and, well… rape.”

A pang of guilt and worry hit him like a wave. He swallowed. “How did you find that out?”

“The sexual assault part we already suspected,” he said, and Jack agreed with a nod. “Then I heard them talking stuff to him, and he started mumbling to himself…”

Jack’s blue, teary eyes looked down at his lover. His Anti. 

“ _ Cholla _ ,” he called, voice cracking up due strong emotion. “You’re going home now.”

Robin carefully picked Anti up, holding him against his chest. The green-haired man too tired to protest, this time— he kept still. 

“He may have a concussion,” Robin muttered, standing up with a huff.

Jack dusted his pants off, adrenaline wearing down his systems as his injury throbbed. He grimaced, hand placed over it through his shirt.

“And  _ you _ , need to lay down,” his friend countered. The three of them left the abandoned apartment, Jack glancing one last time at the place.

 

Anti woke up with a cold rag laid on his forehead, limbs buried in pillows. He took a deep breath, and relaxed— he smelled gillyflowers, and Jack’s shampoo. He was at his place. He was… home.

His head pounded, and his ribs were sore. He licked his dry lips, and blinked his heavy eyes open. 

He was in the living room. Pale light warming up the environment, colourful plant pots everywhere. Portraits on the walls of Jack and his friends and family, and a polaroid selfie of the man and himself stuck to the wall with duct tape. He smiled. 

In the picture, Anti had just woken up, had a lazy smile on his face. His green eyes matched a green jumper perfectly, and his hair was everywhere. Jack had his arm around him, baby pink jumper covering his frame, and he had the most beautiful, bright smile on his face.

“Cholla,” a voice, that had became his favourite in the world, called. “Are you awake?”

“Physically, or spiritually?” He whispered with a grin, and Jack snorted.

“Either is fine,” Jack said, kneeling down his level next to the sofa. He raised his hand, cupping Anti's cheek with his cold fingers.

“Thank you for saving me,” Anti muttered.

Jack caressed the man’s cheek with his thumb. “Robin did all the work, really.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

The brown-haired man leaned forward, and their lips brushed close. They breathed each other’s breaths, and their lips pressed together. 

The kiss was slow, Anti opened his mouth slowly and welcomed Jack's tongue eagerly. They tasted each other’s mouths, Jack’s finger's carding through Anti's green hair. Their noses touched, the cold metal of Anti’s piercing chilling Jack’s skin.

“I leave you two for 5 minutes, I swear-!” Robin’s voice interrupted them. Anti’s smile widened against Jack’s.

“Cockblock Robin, back at it again,” he said, and Jack burst out laughing.

“No cock action until both of you aren’t a hundred percent okay again,” Robin said, unfazed.

“I can’t believe you just said the words ‘ _ cock action _ ’ with a serious voice,” Anti giggled.

“Time for some cock action!” Jack shouted, mimicking obscenely having something in his mouth.

Robin rolled his eyes, an obvious smile pulling the corners of his lips. “Alright children, time for lunch.”

“ _ Yes, dad, _ ” Anti and Jack said at the same time in a petulant voice, before snickering at each other.

The day went on smoothly, as if nothing unusual had ever happened. Anti’s life, though, had just completely changed in the blink of an eye. He knew this. He was… free. He had friends, he had a family. He didn’t have to go back to those guys anymore.

For years, he had dreamed of this. And now, well, he was a bit lost. He had a whole life to live. So many opportunities, so many dreams that he had given up on. He didn’t need to be ‘an Anti’ anymore. He could just be… himself. 

It’d take time for him to recover— as it takes for most healing things—, but he wasn’t alone in his journey anymore.

He had been freed from the cage around his own neck, from the tip of his own knife. From the shot of his own gun. 

_ What has life left to give me _ , he thought, and a question that haunted him for years flashed on his mind.

_ Who am I? _ He asked himself.

“ _ Cholla _ ! Let’s watch a movie!” Jack’s voice called across the room.

Maybe a  _ jumping cactus _ would be his answer for now, and he was okay with that.

**Author's Note:**

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